


things you say through your teeth

by artificialmeggie (ohmymeggs)



Series: things you say [2]
Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Angst, Implied Smut, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-07-08 20:35:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19875703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmymeggs/pseuds/artificialmeggie
Summary: Their first fight is nothing short of awful. It’s all Nina’s fault and it’s all avoidable, and that’s the worst part of the entire thing.





	things you say through your teeth

**Author's Note:**

> Ninex owns my entire heart. Thank you to mia_ugly for prereading, hand-holding, tear-wiping, and generally being better to me than I deserve on the daily. 
> 
> (These are one-shots and are thus are not chronological, although they do all take place within the same universe. This one takes place before "things you say at one a.m.")

Their first fight is nothing short of awful. 

It’s all Nina’s fault and it’s all avoidable, and that’s the worst part of the entire thing.

They’re in Miami, schedules synchronized per chance for once. They have been “hooking up” (Nina detests that term, but it’s gentler than _fucking,_ which he hates even more because that’s not what this feels like, not really) for three months, one week, and four days. Not that he’s counting.

Monet is out of bed, mixing them drinks at the bathroom sink with the tiny airline bottles of liquor from the minibar.

Nina’s head spins as he watches, but whether it’s from the alcohol or post-coital bliss that always comes after Monet fucks him he isn’t sure. Maybe a beautiful combination of both; he’s never been an addict, but he’s starting to understand how people crave more and more of what they love. He craves more and more of Monet.

“Girl…” Monet chuckles as he brings their drinks to bed. Vodka sodas this time. “You look ridiculous right now.”

Nina knows it must be true. The longer parts of his hair stick up at awkward angles, sweat shines on his forehead and chest; he knows his pupils must be blown and his cheeks are still rosy from both liquor and sex. Monet’s doing. All his. Monet has fucking ruined him.

“And whose fault is that?” Nina sips his drink. It needs lime, but he’s just drunk enough not to care. Feeling braver, seeking out the heat in his belly that comes from a good (or even decent) drink, he finishes it in four gulps. He’s a little buzzed and it’s wonderful.

“You want me to apologize? Call you by my name and shit?”

“I don’t think I ever said anything about that.” Nina laughs. He likes their sex, _loves_ it, to be honest. It’s just the right amount of wanton lustfulness with a large side dish of true compassion and intimacy. It’s _congenial,_ if you will. (He told Brooke that once; she choked a little.)

Monet just rolls his eyes and takes carefully measured drinks from the glass after he repositions himself in bed at Nina’s side, back against the headboard, legs out straight in front of him.

Nina wastes no time tucking his head into the space between Monet’s hip and thigh and rests there, cheek on silky skin, drawing and tracing letters and shapes and nonsense while Monet channel surfs. He finally settles on an old episode of _Jeopardy!,_ places the remote on the nightstand, and threads the fingers of his free hand through Nina’s hair to massage the scalp absentmindedly.

It’s nice. Comfortable. Domestic. Something Nina could definitely get used to.

The thought is treacherous. Nina getting used to the idea of having Monet, of actually coming home to him, climbing in bed next to him every night after gigs, touching him whenever he wants and not having to wait until they’re locked behind the privacy of a hotel door every three weeks or whenever their schedules line up.

It’s _dangerous_ because Nina knows Monet doesn’t want the same things, _can’t_ want the same things, because that’s not how Nina’s life works. That’s never how it’s been. He’s always been the one to fall first, fall hardest, fall period. If Nina West had a middle name, it would be Unrequited.

Monet is whip-smart (he’s answered the last seven questions right, _not that Nina’s counting_ ); he’s so funny and quick on his feet, so kind and benevolent and inspirational. And gorgeous. They just don’t fit.

He pushes himself off Monet’s lap (even though he wants to stay there for the night, for eternity, for as long as Monet will have him). Nina rests against the headboard, blinks back the tears he feels burning in the corners of his eyes. He knew this would happen and still…

It hurts so much more than he could have expected.

“Fuck _off,_ Tyler!” Monet says exasperatedly and drains the rest of his drink. “Can you believe this motherfucker didn’t know the answer was caviar when the clue _specifically said_ it was made from roe? Avocado, my black ass…” 

Then Monet glances over at Nina, who’s picking at his thumbnail and wishing he could stop the stupid tears that are rolling down his face.

“Why are you crying, Nina West?”

“What are we doing?” Nina asks quietly.

Monet glances at the television. “We’re lying in bed watching _Jeopardy!_ Eventually we’re going to sleep because you have a show tomorrow night and I have a flight to catch.” 

“No, I mean like…” Nina gestures to the bed, sheets still rumpled and messy around their legs. “What are we _doing_?”

“Oh.” Monet’s voice goes quiet with realization, so he turns the tv off and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Oh. Okay. Well. What _are_ we doing?”

Nina shrugs. “This is… You are…” Words, Nina. Use your _words_. “I like this; I like _you._ A lot—”

“Me too.”

“—and like, I haven’t been with anyone else since we started doing whatever this is that we’re doing, and that’s fine with me, but I know it’s probably different for you, and I just…” Nina pauses. Stops. Sighs. Bows his head. “I’m not sure I can handle you breaking my heart if we do this anymore.”

Monet quirks his head to the side, eyes narrowed. “The fuck are you talking about?”

“I can’t…” Nina sighs. “I can’t get any closer to you because it’s just going to hurt worse when you decide that we’re done.”

Monet nods, licks his lips, stares at the red and gold duvet scrunched at the foot of the bed. “So I’m the one who ends things; is that how this works? I’m going to be the bad guy?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“But that’s what you _said_.” Monet nods once and pushes himself out of bed, hastily gathering his clothes from their resting spots on the floor. “You said you couldn’t take it when I broke your heart, like it was an inevitability. Like you’re just waiting around for the other shoe to drop.” He pulls on his shorts angrily. “Look, I know you like to live in a Disney movie, okay, I get it, I love that about you. But that’s not how life works, baby. Life is messy and painful and sometimes it takes two people to break a heart.”

Nina sniffs. “What… are you saying?”

Monet pulls his T-shirt over his head and collapses back onto the bed. He sits on the edge with his head in his hands and sighs. “I’m not… I don’t think I’m like you think I am. There’s no one else; hasn’t been for me since we started…” He motions to the bed, repeating Nina’s gesture from earlier. “I guess I just assumed you knew that about me.”

“But we hardly ever see each other,” Nina says quietly. He aches to reach out, to touch him, to trace the tattoo that runs down Monet’s spine. He doesn’t. Doesn’t feel he has the right anymore. 

“So? When we do see each other?” Monet whistles. “It’s enough for me. So why isn’t it enough for you?”

Nina shakes his head fervently. “No, I never said—”

“Not in so many words,” Monet says. “But what’s really going on underneath all this? What’s really making you push me away? Because one day I might not feel the same way? You think I’m not scared shitless at this? You think you don’t frustrate the hell out of me because I’ve never felt like this about anyone else before? But _I’m_ not running.”

The tears are back in Nina’s eyes (he’s not sure they ever really left) because he can feel Monet slipping away from him. And it’s all completely, utterly his fault. He got too in his head and now look where things are. If he’d just kept his mouth shut, they’d still be fine. His head would still be in Monet’s lap, they’d still be watching _Jeopardy!_ Nothing would be different. 

“Right,” Monet says after an uncomfortable beat of silence. “Well. I think I’m going to go back to my own room for the night then.” He stands, steps into his shoes, pauses with his hand on the door knob like he’s waiting for Nina to stop him. “My flight leaves at 11:30 tomorrow… if you want to grab breakfast or whatever, let me know.”

It’s all Nina can do to nod. The door opens and clicks closed, and Nina’s crying for real this time, hugging a pillow to his chest and wanting wanting wanting. 

* * *

Nina wants to text. Fights with himself over it as he lies in bed, not sleeping, but he’s also not finished berating himself for being an absolute idiot. He orders room service at 10:30 and picks over his fruit bowl, watching the minutes tick by on his digital clock.

He’ll try for a nap later on, before he has to leave for the show that afternoon, and maybe by then, after Monet’s plane has landed in New York, after Nina’s gotten some sleep and they’ve both gotten some distance, maybe then Nina can send a text. Apologize. Beg forgiveness. Tell Monet he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him and that he doesn’t want to lose what they have. _Could_ have. 

Just after noon, there’s a knock on the door.

Nina almost ignores it, almost stays in bed, buries his head under the pillows and tries desperately to slip into the sleep that avoided him all night. But he swings his legs out of bed reluctantly, trudges across the floor, and opens the door without looking through the peephole (it’s bad practice; he knows better, but he’s _tired_ ). 

“Hey,” Monet says quietly. He’s standing in the hallway, suitcase behind him, hands shoved in the back pockets of his shorts. A staged casual stance. He’s pretending to be comfortable when he is anything but.

“What…” Nina can’t speak. Can’t form words. Can’t believe this man is standing in front of him like a real life goddamn Disney movie.

“I didn’t like the way I left things last night,” Monet responds. “You didn’t text, and I was at the airport, but I couldn’t leave things like they were without knowing when I was going to see you again.”

“What?” Nina repeats. Still awed. Part of it is probably exhaustion. Part of is is sheer emotion.

Monet runs a hand over his head. “So can I come in?”

Nina steps aside and allows the other man entrance, and Monet pulls his suitcase in behind him. 

The door clicks closed and all Nina wants to do is pull Monet into his chest and kiss him until they’re breathless, but Monet takes a breath and Nina feels his heart clench. Because with no texts, Nina could pretend that everything would be okay someday. With Monet in front of him ready to end things, he isn’t so confident.

“Okay, so. Look.” Monet sighs. “Last night you asked me what we were doing. So I wanted to just come out and say it.”

Nina steels himself, braces for the worst, prepares to have his heart broken.

“I _really fucking_ like you, okay? So if you need more to get you out of this crazy-ass Monet-is-going-to-leave-me headspace, okay. I’ll be more. Let’s do more. But you have to talk to me when you start to get like this.” Monet guides Nina to the edge of the bed, sits beside him, takes his hands. “I want to know you so well that I can see this coming, I’ll get there eventually, but for now, you _have_ to tell me.”

Nina nods. “Okay.”

“Also…” Monet smiles, broad and brilliant and everything Nina loves. “Do you wanna be my boyfriend? Just so we’re both on the same page.”

He kisses Monet then, soft and chaste, just enough to confirm what they both already knew was a sure thing. “Duh,” Nina says against Monet’s lips. They kiss again and then Nina pulls away to yawn, and Monet narrows his eyes.

“Bitch, did you sleep at all last night?”

“Not really…” Nina admits sheepishly.

Monet kicks off his shoes and pulls Nina to his chest before covering them with the scratchy hotel sheet.

“What about your flight?” Nina says softly. 

“There are other flights,” Monet says. “Right now I want to be here.”

Nina will apologize later after Monet accompanies him to his show, grinning the entire time and cheering louder than almost anyone else there. For now though, he relaxes into Monet’s chest, clasps their hands together, and slips into a dreamless sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr @ artificialmeggie. Come say hello, ask for headcanons, give me your own, or just hang out!
> 
> I welcome your comments here or there.


End file.
